Bewitched
by Genevievey
Summary: A re-imagining of the scene from "Changing Times", when Peter and Assumpta are left to guard Quigley's job site.


_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Although I do enjoy the "Changing Times" scene at Quigley's job site, the idea of Peter and Assumpta waiting in the firelight caught my imagination, so I've written a re-imagining of that scene_,_ with a different ending. I hope you enjoy!_

_One thing: 'sidh' is a Gaelic term for fairy, and is pronounced "shee" (as in, Kilnashee)._

_I do not own "Ballykissangel". I just adore it instead. Please read & review!  
_

**Bewitched**

Peter felt a surge of affection for his friends as his car sailed down the slope towards them, and Siobhan, Brendan and Michael leapt to picket the bulldozer, squinting in the headlights. He didn't want to get involved himself, but they were good people to take such a stand. Peter raised his hands in a teasing gesture of peace as he climbed out of his car, and the protesters relaxed visibly. His offer of soup, tea and sandwiches was gratefully received, and Peter found himself glad to be again in the company of these people. He was just on the point of declining Siobhan's request that he might take guard duty the next day, when Michael alerted them all to another approaching vehicle. Peter, caught in the excitement, ran to join them, then stopped, remembering, "Oh, what am I doing, I'm not part of this!"

But the van was soon revealed to contain only Assumpta, and Peter felt an all too familiar quickening of his pulse as she stepped out, smiling, "Better business out here than I've had in the pub all night."  
"I thought you were against us," frowned Brendan.  
"And so I am," she replied amiably, climbing out of the car with basket in hand, "on a purely material basis. I'm with yers in spirit though, so I bought you a few sandwiches and some drinks."

As the three protestors climbed down from their posts with expressions of gratitude, Peter smiled to himself. _Great minds think alike, eh?_  
"I'm surprised to see you here, Father."  
"Like you, I'm on an errand of mercy," Peter explained with a smile, and he tried to tell himself it was the crackling fire that made him feel warm when she replied with a smiling "Ahah."

They all gathered round the fire, Assumpta working on a thermos flask, and Peter casually brought up an idea he'd had. After all, he wasn't going to protest actively, but he could make a subtle suggestion.  
"As I was driving here I was remembering when I was at university and we were protesting to stop a car park being built."  
"Ah, so you were a man of action once, were ya?" Assumpta cut in teasingly, her gaze lowered to the flask.  
Peter felt a little jolt inside him. _What did she mean by that?_  
"Will you leave the poor man alone?"  
"Thank you, Siobhan. Anyway, some of the kids from the Archaeology department sewed the site with artifacts. You know, arrow-heads, bones, that sort of thing. Held the work up for months. I just offer you that thought."

The brave protestors took to that idea in a matter of moments, and were soon rushing off to Michael's house to organise things. The priest and the publican were abandoned to 'hold the fort'. Peter called out after them, helplessly, but they were already gone. Turning back, he was forced to meet Assumpta's gaze – a smile of amusement lighting her face.  
"God, if you're frightened of the dark I'll stay with you," she smiled in that teasing way that at once endeared and frustrated him, and Peter found he couldn't form a suitably light-hearted reply._  
It's not the dark I'm afraid of…it's the firelight._  
"Thanks," he muttered, with a half-smile.

Assumpta poured them both a cup of tea from her flask, and they huddled around the fire. Watching the sparks fly up into the darkness, hands wrapped around the warmth of his cup, Peter racked his brains for a way to hold a conversation with her, without endangering himself. He looked down at the cup. There was something very comforting about drinking from a thermos, especially with the cold all around him.

"Well, our brave protestors were quick to leave their post," Assumpta began, sipping her tea.  
"Wouldn't you be?" he replied, "It's freezing out here."  
"One of the many reasons I hadn't _intended_ to spend my evening guarding a bulldozer, but oh well. It _is_ a good cause."  
Peter nodded. "Yeah, this place is beautiful. It'd be a shame to see it destroyed."  
"D'ya know what Kilnashee means?"  
He shook his head.  
"Wood of the fairies," Assumpta informed him, with a laughing smile. "When I was kid, my Dad used to take me for walks here, and I'd look for the little people, the _sidh_."

Peter found himself smiling. He hadn't heard much of her childhood, and that image was a sweet one. She smiled into the flames, holding her hands up to warm them, and continued.  
"Dad could tell great fairy stories too. I guess most country folk could, in his generation…maybe he got them off Granddad. Anyway, I got some great bedtime stories."  
"Do you remember any?"  
"Well…yeah."  
"Tell me," said Peter, without knowing quite why. The woman raised an eyebrow laughingly, but relented.  
"Alright then; as long as you don't doze off on me. I'll tell you a story about the little people, the likes of who inhabit this very wood…"

As she related a story about a boy who fell asleep in a fairy ring and was taken away by the _sidh_, Peter was dismayed to find his attention wandering from the tale to the teller. The firelight flickered across Assumpta's features, already animated in the telling of a childhood story. He would hardly be surprised if _she_ was some sort of an enchanted changeling; in the fire's glow she had an almost unearthly beauty, and Peter's heart ached. With each flicker of the fire she seemed to him in turns like a great Celtic storyteller, a starry-eyed child, a beautiful woman in the firelight…Damn it, he'd thought this would be a safe way to pass the time!

"But the young lad realized his mistake too late; y'see, once you've taken food or drink from the _sidh_, you're theirs."  
As her eyes sparkled with enjoyment at the tale, Peter felt strangely powerless, and thought of the number of pints and sandwiches he'd taken from the bewitching landlady at Fitzgerald's. _I'm done for._

Realizing the course of his thoughts, Peter shook his head. The smoke must be getting to his brain. It was certainly getting in his eyes. He was jolted out of his reverie when Assumpta addressed him directly. She had noticed his grim expression, and smiled in mock-comfort, "Now now, don't worry – he gets away in the end."  
Peter forced a chuckle, feeling the heat from the fire a little oppressive. If he were the superstitious type, he would have insisted that he actually was under some kind of a spell; he could not will his eyes to leave her face, although each second he gazed at her he was becoming more and more lost. Firelight was a very dangerous thing.

Assumpta finished her story, and gave a little flourishing bow, which Peter applauded laughingly. She really was good company – if it wasn't for the fact that her presence caused a struggle inside him, Peter would have been perfectly content.

"If only we had some marshmallows," the man mused, and she smiled.  
"Yeah, that would really make it 'stories round the campfire'. Are you hungry?"  
Peter shook his head. "Nah; we should save the food for the gallant protestors."  
"Right you are…Now, you owe me a story."  
"What?" Peter's eyebrows shot up. "No, I'm no good at-"  
"Go on. Or do you English not have any stories to measure up with our rollicking Celtic tales?"  
At that grinning provocation, Peter sighed and held his hands up to the fire.  
"If you put it like that…Well, I suppose the greatest English story is King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. But you'll know that one."  
"I can hear it again."  
Peter couldn't quite keep from smiling as he rolled his eyes, and began to tell the tale.  
"Well…Long ago there was a great kingdom called Camelot…"

Of course, Assumpta knew the story. But she enjoyed watching him tell it; his endearing awkwardness, his attempts at different voices for each character (he made Merlin sound like a real toff) but always reverting to his old Manchester accent. Although of course she had never been to one of his sermons, Assumpta was fascinated and refreshed to see him telling a different kind of story; such a human story of ideals and passion and pain. It was a kind of proof, another confirmation that there was a real man underneath that dog-collar.

"Now, Guinevere was a fiery woman, and at first she wouldn't give Lancelot the time of day; he was a foreigner from France, and was having far too much influence on her husband. But as the months passed, Guinevere began to find that her feelings were changing, and one day she realized that she was in fact in love with the young knight."

Assumpta moved a little, trying to escape the full blast of the fire's heat.

"Through these months, Lancelot too had fallen in love with the beautiful queen. But what could they do? They both loved the King and were loath to betray him, but they couldn't deny the strength of their love either. Their only option, it seemed, was to conduct an affair in secret; and for a short while it lasted, Lancelot stealing to the queen's chambers at night."

Peter's eyes were fixed firmly on the flames, and Assumpta found herself unable to look away from him.

"But then, they were discovered, and the law of the land stated that King Arthur must have his wife executed for committing adultery. He did not want to do it, but he had no choice. However, at the last moment Lancelot's men attacked the castle and carried Guinevere away. Though Arthur was relieved that his wife's life had been saved, he was now forced into a war."  
"Sounds like it could only end badly," said Assumpta, quietly. Peter looked up, meeting her gaze, and nodded. "Arthur died. Lancelot and Guinevere were so distraught, they both entered separate orders of the church, and ended their days alone. The end."

After a moment of silence, Assumpta scoffed gently and drained her cup of tea.  
"I think I preferred my story. Anyway, we Irish have our own version of that tragic love-triangle; Fionn mac Cumhaill, his queen Grainne, and his warrior Diarmuid. In the end Diarmuid died in a boar hunt, and Fionn wouldn't save him; it had been prophesied that he would be killed by a boar. That's big theme in Irish stories; all the great heroes had a _geis_, a vow or a prophesy, which they weren't allowed to break. And usually the tragedy occurred when they were somehow forced to break it."  
"That strikes a chord," muttered Peter, staring into the smouldering embers.  
"What?"  
"Nothing."

Assumpta sighed and wandered to her van, placing the thermos back on the bonnet.  
"Bonfires are strange," she began, her voice sounding odd after the silence, "you can never quite get comfortable; you're either overpowered by the heat, or too far away in the cold."  
Peter looked up as she came to stand next to him. "We could always go sit in the car." He regretted that a moment after he'd offered; perhaps the dark could be just as dangerous as the firelight…talk about a rock and a hard place.  
"But then how would we rush to defend the wood if Quigley suddenly appears with his army?" She smiled and shook her head. "I'm fine here."

Assumpta cleared a space on the bonnet and leaned against it. Peter was keen to rest his legs as well, so came to sit beside her. There was a long silence, which they endeavoured to fill with little yawns and shivers, diligently ignoring the fact that they were a man and a woman alone in the light of a glowing fire. From a distance, anyone would think those two by the car were the average couple of lovers.

Assumpta shivered, a little too dramatically for the casual effect she'd been going for, and Peter turned to look at her. Somewhere in the last few moments, he had lost some battle within. He found himself reaching for the hand she'd un-gloved to stoke the fire.  
"You cold?"  
"Yeah – no…" Assumpta trailed off, staring at her hand in his own larger one.  
"Don't feel cold."  
She raised her eyes in question, but Peter's gaze was firmly fixed on their hands, carefully examining her graceful fingers. He enfolded her hand in both of his own, running a thumb lightly over her skin. Assumpta could only stare at him, aware of the warmth of his touch and the pounding of her own heart. Then he lowered his head, pressing her hand against his forehead. There was a long moment in which he did not move, until he raised his head again, meeting her gaze. In the flicker of the firelight, his heated expression captivated her. Could he really be going to…?

Finally, he spoke. "Remind me…once you've been bewitched, is it possible to escape an enchantment?"  
Assumpta struggled to hold his gaze, and when she managed a reply, her voice came thick and low.  
"That all depends if you _want to_…Do you?"

Peter stared at her; feeling more vulnerable than ever. He didn't mean to, he had no idea what he was going to say, but he became aware of his mouth forming the words, "Not really." He was stunned by his own admission, and the way Assumpta's gaze deepened to hear it. Peter found himself continuing.  
"I didn't mean for this to happen, and I've tried to do the 'right thing', but now I realize that I've been fighting in vain, and half-heartedly. I'm utterly bewitched, Assumpta…and I don't have the strength or the will to fight. I can only hope that the sorceress will be merciful."

Assumpta's eyes were lowered, her breathing shallow. After a torturous moment, she finally looked up, her gaze a myriad of wonder, confusion, hope, fear, joy…Then a hint of that old sparkle appeared as a tiny smile played around her mouth, and she murmured, "That's very heathenish talk, for a priest."  
With a sigh of frustration, Peter took her firmly by the shoulders. "Assumpta, I won't be a priest anymore – I can't. I don't know what I'm going to do, or how I'll do it…All I know is that…I'm yours."  
Those last two words brought down any defence she had left, and Peter watched the soft smile light her face, captivated.

Suddenly, the scene was illuminated by the flash of headlights, signalling the return of the three protestors. The pair by the bonfire leapt apart like startled deer, a blush rising in their cheeks. As so many generations of lovers before them, they attempted to disguise their true feelings by behaving in an exaggeratedly casual manner, and avoiding each other's gaze. Thankfully the intruding friends were so occupied with their project that this weak guise actually worked.

"Thanks for holding the fort, Father," called Brendan, already with a shovel over his shoulder.  
"Oh, no problem," Peter replied, "it's all quiet."  
"You two can head off home now," offered Siobhan, and they feigned gratitude.  
"Great, thanks."  
"Good luck!"

Reluctantly, they made their way to their respective cars, but as soon as Brendan, Michael and Siobhan had departed to plant the artifacts, Peter strode over to join Assumpta by her van. She looked up at him, taking a deep breath.  
"Well, um, goodnight, I suppose."  
"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow?" Assumpta breathed, and he nodded.  
"Of course. After closing, and we could have a talk maybe. We've got some things to sort out."  
The woman rolled her eyes smilingly. "You can say that again."

Peter chuckled, and couldn't resist lifting his hand to brush away the hair that had blown into her face, letting his fingers come to rest on her soft cheek. They were standing so close, and he was just dying to kiss her, but resisted, dropping his hand. Not yet. There would be other times – and was a miracle in itself.  
"Goodnight."  
"Goodnight," Assumpta returned, but as he turned away she suddenly grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. With a sheepish little smile, she muttered, "I'm afraid if I let you go, the spell might wear off."

Peter grinned at the sweetness of it, and at the ridiculousness of her fear. There wasn't a chance in the world.  
"Somehow I don't think that's likely."  
Assumpta smiled up at him, a sparkle in her eyes. "Humour me." And she sealed the spell with a light kiss on his cheek, lingering just a moment. Peter breathed out as she pulled away, and tried to control his grin as he murmured, "Well, that's done the trick."  
Assumpta laughed out loud, joyous, shaking her head in wonder and amusement as she climbed into her van and started the motor.

Peter watched her taillights disappear into the darkness, and stood there for quite some time; savouring the moment. Looking about at the dark countryside, he found himself hoping sincerely that Quigley would be prevented from levelling this wood. Because after tonight, Peter had no doubt that it was a place of enchantment.


End file.
